


Put On Your Dancing Shoes

by Darky_Parky



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Creepy, Hey remember that one time when mark made that cult, Humor, I'm Bad At Summaries, Madness, Mentions of Murder, Panic Attacks! At the Disco, Purgatory, References to Who Killed Markiplier, Theory based, Wilford Motherlovin' Warfstache - Freeform, absurdity, cult?, yeah that was fun wasn't it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-22 21:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darky_Parky/pseuds/Darky_Parky
Summary: you don't have your mask haha.you don’t seem happy haha.you aren’t smiling haha.this is all just a fun fun game haha.so put your mask on haha.and laugh like you mean it.





	Put On Your Dancing Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Basically Wilford's purgatory thing through the eyes of one of Wilford's victims.

Margaret's heart slowed as blood collected in the fabric of her white dress. Darkness sank in as her killer waved to her, wearing a large smile.

"See you on the dance floor."

What an odd thing to say, Margaret thought as everything faded to black. Death pulled her away from her deceased body and guided her into a bright light far off into the distance. The light was warm and welcoming, silently calling to her with its beauty.

Margaret was reaching out to the light when she was yanked from it and placed onto a busy dance floor. It was filled with light, color, music, and people.

Margaret looked down at herself to see that there was no longer a bullet embedded in her chest. Nor did she still wear her white dress, instead she was adorned in a rather skimpy bronze disco dress that she thought didn't look so appealing with her somewhat larger figure.

Margaret already felt uncomfortable. While she tried to make herself look smaller she decided to scan the area, seeing if anything to give her some sort of clue as to where she was and what was going on.

Nothing was really out of the ordinary, it was like any other disco. The only thing that unsettled Margaret was who was on the stage. Along with a group of backup dancers was the man that killed her. Dancing away as if nothing really mattered.

Margaret still didn't know what was going on, but she was going to get out of here.

She tried her best to maybe skirt around the dance floor to the exit, but there was too big of a group. She would have to squeeze through the crowd.

She held her arms close to her chest as she walked through the crowd, keeping her eyes trained on the brightly lit tiles. But, in the process of doing this she managed to get way off track.

The people didn't seem to care that she was trying to get out, they just kept dancing, bumping and pushing her farther and farther from the exit.

By now Margaret was getting frustrated, she started to push back, passive aggressive apologies escaping from her lips. 

A woman in a golden jumpsuit turned around to face Margaret, blocking her path in the process.

"Hey, why the long face? You should happy!" Margaret went around her, continuing her journey to the exit.

A man in a brown leather jacket turned around in the same fashion. "Come on, lighten up!" he encouraged. Margaret pushed past him only to have him grab her by the shoulder. "C'mon, give us a smile!"

"Let go of me!" Margaret tore away from the man and pushed on, still making very little progress.

An older woman grabbed her by the wrist, smiling at her sickeningly. "Where's your mask, Margaret?" Margaret looked at the woman in horror before pulling her hand away and squeezing through the large crowd of dancers.

One by one they began to turn to her with the same horrible smile. "Where's your mask, Margaret?" they all asked in unity.

Margaret's heartbeat pounded in her ears as she closed her eyes, shaking her head. This is all one big nightmare. She just has to wake up. She has to wake up.

Right when Margaret was right at the exit somebody grabbed her by the arm and turned her around. Margaret was soon met with the horrid smile of her killer.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Margaret let out a shrill scream, causing the other patrons to cease dancing and back away from her. The killer immediately let go of Margaret's arm as his eyes widened. He back away, his eyes darting around the room, not exactly knowing what to do.

Tears spilled from her eyes and began rolling down her cheeks, her screams softening to sobs. 

Margaret buried her face in her hands as she wept. The killer bent down, trying to meet where her gaze would be if she was looking at him. "Hey. . . are you alright?"

Margaret pulled her hands down and looked to the killer in outrage. Her face as red as her eyes.

"Alright?! How am I alright?! You killed me!"

The killer cocked his head to side. "Excuse me?" Margaret knitted her eyebrows together, growing equally as confused as the mustached man before her. "I'm sorry, but I do not believe we have met."

"How could not know me?"

The killer gave her a sideways glance. "You definitely look like an M. . . something." Margaret raised her eyebrows in expectation. "Mave? Maryland? Mur. . . doch? Malarkey! Malarkey? No? . . . Marco?"

"Polo!" called a girl from the very back of the crowd.

"You'd kill somebody without even knowing their name?"

"Well, I'm sorry, memories can get so confusing sometimes. Don't you think?" Margaret didn't respond. "Alright. Well, I believe introductions are an order. I'm Wilford Warfstache and you are. . . ?"

"Margaret. My name is Margaret."

"Okay, Maggie-"

"Margaret. Only my friends call me Maggie. And you sir, are no friend of mine!" 

Wilford chuckled. "Ah, I felt the same way about a certain detective when I was about your age.  . . . Or was I your age back then?" Wilford waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, doesn't matter."

"What happened to him? Did you kill him too?"

"You probably would have gotten along well with him. You both share the tendency of focusing on the little details."

"How is any of this little?! I was killed tonight and sent to this. . . nightmare disco!"

"Nightmare? Oh, no, no, this is a happy place!"

"How? How could this possibly be a happy place?!"

"Well, some people find it a lot easier when they join the fun." Wilford seemingly pulled out a mask from thin air and offered it to Margaret.

It heavily resembled Wilford except with a curly bubblegum pink mustache rather than the bushy black one he had now. Margaret pushed her eyebrows together before looking around the room to find everybody wearing the mask, staring at her with blank, black eyes. "Maggie, don't you want to wear the mask?" Margaret turned back to Wilford in terror. "It'll make you happy. It'll make you look just - like - me."

He turned over the mask to show the horrible dark underside. It didn't look like any material people make masks out of. It was unnaturally black and. . . Margaret could  _swear_ whispering was coming from it.

"Put your mask on, Maggie," the people chanted, causing her anxiety to grow larger and larger before finally. . .

"N-no!" The chanting ceased. "I-I. . . I don't want this! I just. . . I just want to go home. I want to get out of here! Please!" She grabbed Wilford by his pink shirt. "Let me out of here! LET ME OUT OF HERE! PLEASE!" Tears began to roll down her cheeks yet again. Her grip loosened as she hung her head in shame. "Please, please. I just want to go home."

Wilford frowned. "Alright, fellas, could you give us a moment here?" asked Wilford. The crowd said nothing as they marched out of the disco in a single file line. The lights of the disco shutting off, all color beginning to fade. "Okay, okay, okay, Margaret." Wilford took her hands away from him and held them in his own. "Look at me, look at me." Margaret finally gained the courage to look him in the eye. He smiled reassuringly. "Okay, okay. Everything is okay."

"B-but-but-"

"Listen, I know you're scared and I know this all doesn't make sense to you. But, neither did the world you lived in and now live in. Life is madness just like death, so why try to make sense of it? Why not just have a little fun with it?" Amusement sparkled in Wilford's eyes as he said this.

Margaret sniffed, wiping away mascara tainted tears from her cheeks. "Listen, Margaret, if you still don't want to stay here, you can leave. But there's nothing out there. No fun, no happiness, no madness of any sort."

"I don't have any other choice?"

"Sadly, death is not ours to choose."

Margaret's stomach twisted into knots as she thought of her decisions. A possible eternity of nothingness or madness. No matter what she chooses, the only thing that will be an impact will be upon Margaret. Nobody else.

Margaret sighed and shook her head. "I must be crazy."

"No, no, you're not." Wilford placed a hand on Margaret's shoulder. "Don't let _anyone_   tell you that you're crazy. You're just finally seeing the world as it is."

Though comforting Wilford's words, the decision still remained. Either eternity of nothingness or madness.

"Fuck it." Margaret knew she will never not miss the feeling of living. And to live is to experience madness. "Give me that mask."

Wilford grinned as he handed Margaret the mask. Margaret took in a deep breath before placing it onto her face and pulling the string attached to it over her head.

Margaret could feel the mask latching onto her face, never letting go. The whispers becoming louder and louder in her ears. 

A chorus of giggles and chuckles echoed through her ears, engulfing her, infecting her, making it harder and harder not to smile.

"Laugh like you mean it! Laugh like you mean it! LAUGH LIKE YOU MEAN IT!"

This sparked something inside Margaret. Something warm and. . . nice. Why, she hasn't felt anything like this since. . . well, she can't remember when she has felt this way before.

A wide smile pulled at Margaret's lips to the point where it even started to hurt. But she didn't care, it just felt so right. So right.

A laugh bubbled up from beneath the mask and it took Margaret a moment to realize it was her own laugh. As she realized this she started to laugh even harder until she was bent over, holding her sides as tears of joy pricked her eyes. The laughter in her ears matching her gleefulness.

Wilford began joining in on the laughter. "Are you having fun now?"

Margaret finally managed to stand up to look Wilford in the eye. "I've never felt happier!" she managed to gasp out in between chuckles. "Come on! Turn the music back on! Bring everyone back in here!"

The lights of the dance floor came on, the disco ball began to spin and music blasted from the stereos and people marched in.

Wilford clapped his hands together. "Alright! I knew you would come around, Margaret!" 

Margaret grinned at Wilford. "Maggie. Call me Maggie."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this was an accurate representation of the whole purgatory-place Wilford has going on as well as the cult thing. And most of all I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
